“Be safe.”
I know she’s worried because Clara didn’t come back, but I’ll be fine. Still, “I will. Be back soon.” And then I’m gone.
Cade
Iwas going to take my bike to meet Bruno, but I have too much energy to sit down. Deciding to walk, I take in the breeze, letting it flow through my lungs. I swear I can taste freedom in the wind. It dances on the tip of my tongue in a pattern I’ve never been familiar with. There have been brief flashes when I’m toe-to-toe with an opponent, but never something so potent. If the opportunity to become a pro is enough to fill me with this sensation, then I can’t imagine how much better it can become.
Still, I spend the majority of the walk imagining it. I wonder where I’ll go.
Nevada?
Atlantic City?
New Jersey?
I wonder who I’ll meet… what names will be placed beside mine, shining in bright, white lights—everyone shouting my name. I’m in the middle of picturing all the greats shaking my hand when an obnoxious roar of an engine sounds behind me.
I have a habit of walking in the middle of the deserted highway, so I merge onto the side, waving my arm to signal the driver to pass me. Watching the driver as the van approaches,I give both riders a two-finger salute, waving them hello and farewell before I go back to daydreaming.
I’m about to find my place in the middle of the road when suddenly the car slows to a stop. I slow as well, but then the man in the passenger seat sticks his head out of the window, shouting, “Mind helping us out? We’re a bit lost!”
I hustle to their side. Call it small-town boy chivalry, but I feel compelled to help. Approaching the window, I’m met with smiling faces. “So, where are you looking to go?” I ask, but the answer never comes.
A violent burst of pain erupts at the back of my skull, followed by a shrill ringing in my ears. The world suddenly falls, turning on its side. Something catches me before I hit the ground. The abruptness of it sends my head to the left, leaving a trail of blood to stream diagonally across my face.
Sounds become distinguishable then, and the voices of four men, not two, become painstakingly clear.
“Get him in the fucking back! Do it! Do it now!”
I will my body to fight, but something is restraining my hands and feet. Through the blood in my eyes, I glare at the men before me, attempting to memorize their features through my red and fuzzy haze.
“Bag him,” is all the big one says, and then my vision is taken from me, too.
“Fff-ff—” I can’t get the fucking words out! I can’t fucking move! I-I-I. Panic begins to take hold of me, overpowering my inability to function. Body completely out of my control, I flail around on a hard metal floor. Every crash of my bones against the van’s surface sends my nerves recoiling. At some point, I think I scream, but it’s hard to be sure when everyone else is shouting, too.
A sentence breaks through the chaos here and there. A, “fucking get him!” or “shut the fuck up!” Every voice is different,and yet they all blur into one as hands hold me down. When they struggle to keep me still, a little violence is all they need. Steel-heeled shoes come trampling down on every part of my body, crushing my bones until I’m sure I feel splinters.
I know I scream then, an agonized, guttural roar riddled with pain. Still, my body tries to flee. So they stomp harder. Their heels dig in deeper, and those hands that hold me down become pipes and rods beating me against my spine.
There’s no fighting.
At this moment, I can only hope that when I close my eyes again, I wake up beside my animals and feel safe knowing this was all a dream.
It wasn’t.
I wake on my knees, arms tied painfully behind my back. There’s a distinct pressure where my skull meets my spine, a weird sort of fire that centers in only one small area. Exhausted, my head droops forward on its own, covering the lower half of my face in blood, sweat, snot, and tears. The hood is gone from over me, but still, I see nothing. Everything around me is black. I can make out only distant shadows in the void.
Straining my vision, I force my eyes to focus, to make out anything that could tell me where I am. “Hello!” My shout doesn’t come out right at first. It’s hoarse, and I want to say it’s because of pain, but I’ve never been a liar.
It’s fear.
“Hello!” When no one answers my second call, I decide to save my breath and put every ounce of energy I have into undoing these knots and getting the fuck out of here. I start byshimming my arms up and down, testing the strength of the rope wrapped around me.
It takes time, sweat, and maybe a bit of blood before any progress is made, but eventually, I feel some slack. Out of breath and face drenched, I work fast, losing myself in the movements until I’m groaning out in pain.
Huffing out an exhausted sob, I lean forward, my forehead falling softly onto the concrete floor. I’m resting for less than a minute when suddenly, the door ahead of me opens. A faraway light filters in, illuminating the men coming forward in the empty, almost warehouse-like space around me.
Rocking back, I sit on my heels, peering through the shadows to see who’s before me. With the light shining behind them, I can only make out their lower halves. All of them wear black, military-style cargo pants, with the bottoms tucked into thick, laced boots. All of them come strapped with guns, prepared for battle.
